Antisemitic comments aren’t uncommon to hear when traveling. But for many Jewish travelers, their responses aren’t unusual.
Lisbon’s Rua do Ouro is steeped in history. It was known in the 18th century for being one of the most prominent locations for jewelers and goldsmiths (thus the name, which means “Gold Street”). When an earthquake and tsunami all but demolished the entire city in 1755, it was reduced to rubble. But Rua do Oro was rebuilt, along with the entire Baixa district where it’s located, into a grid-like plan, and today it remains one of the most popular visitor destinations in the city.
It was along that street when someone on my tour proudly proclaimed an antisemitic trope, one also steeped in history.
I was on a tuk-tuk tour of the city with five Americans and two Portuguese guides. As we drove down Rua do Ouro and a guide pointed to Caixa Geral de Depósitos, the former headquarters of Portugal’s largest state-owned bank, one guide mentioned that some Jewish bankers helped fund the rebuilding of the city after the earthquake. The other guide responded with a chuckle and a tone that can best be described as “vocal eyeroll”: “Well, they always have all the money.”
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Anyone unfamiliar with the trope that Jews have “all the money” can read more extensively about it, but suffice it to say the idea that Jews control financial industries and buy power with money stems from the Middle Ages and continues today on social media, political campaigns, and, apparently, in everyday conversation. The six of us were facing one another in the tuk-tuk and I looked around to see if I would witness shock on anyone’s face and I did not. I’m ashamed to say my face did not register any emotion either, nor did I say anything. I have thought of that moment frequently since, and the reasons why I kept my mouth closed as my insides were twisting in discomfort.
In 2024, reports on the state of antisemitism around the world and in the United States were released. The European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights, an independent agency of the EU, published “Jewish People’s Experiences and Perceptions of Antisemitism” which states that “Antisemitism continues to pervade the public sphere, reproducing and ingraining negative stereotypes about Jews,” which “has a chilling effect on their participation in society and has a negative impact on their psychological well-being.” The American Jewish Committee (AJC) released a State of Antisemitism in America Report, revealing several chilling statistics, among them that 39% of U.S. adults have seen or heard antisemitism in the last year.
Needless to say, microaggressions occur every day to people of different religions, ethnicities, and races. Ask your friends, colleagues, and family members about the things they hear about the racism, stereotyping, and bigotry that fly freely and insidiously around the globe; read people’s accounts about what they encounter while simply trying to explore a destination; know that often these comments, asides, and so-called “jokes” are sometimes accompanied with violence. When they’re not, some of us can feel like we didn’t experience something “bad enough” to warrant mentioning.
The AJC report found that, “of those targeted by antisemitism in 2024, only 22% say they reported it. The main reasons someone didn’t report were: they didn’t think anything would be done (54%), they didn’t think it was serious enough to report (44%), and they didn’t know how to report it (22%).” Those statistics resonate deeply with me. I did not think anything would be done if I reported it (which I ultimately did and nothing was done). And not for one moment did I feel the seriousness of being in actual danger, and not only because I can “pass” as someone who isn’t identifiably Jewish. But there is a price to swallowing the “small” stuff.
“We don’t have the studies [about swallowing the “small” stuff] but I look at the research that’s been done about women not standing up for themselves and swallowing messages,” said Malka Shaw, a therapist who works with victims of trauma and antisemitism (and who, it turns out, is also a relative I’d never known about). “There’s shame and guilt in internalizing messages. It impacts self-esteem and sense of identity and worth. Each time may feel like, ‘it’s just one time,’ but it adds up. And the message becomes, ‘I’m not worthy of standing up for myself.’”
An informal survey of several Jewish people showed me how prevalent these moments are. One person told me they heard the entirety of the Jewish population referred to as “dirty liars.” Another old me about a slur that I won’t repeat that turns the word Jew into a verb. Another frequent traveler told me of an anecdote at a high-end restaurant where a chef told them about an Icelandic dish commonly served at Christmas dinners; when the traveler told him they were Jewish, the chef said, “Don’t worry, I don’t judge.” It speaks volumes that the people I interviewed did not want their names printed, and I don’t blame them. There are prices to speaking up, as there are prices to staying silent.
“I wouldn’t say I was in shock because it’s not shocking,” the traveler in the restaurant told me. “If I’d said, ‘I’ve never celebrated Christmas because I’m Buddhist’ would he have said ‘I don’t judge’?”
In some ways, each of those people was “lucky” because they were on the receiving end of words and not worse. They all finished their trips without the experience being entirely ruined. The person at the restaurant even thought, “Okay, well, I’m still gonna eat that dessert.” I, too, continued my trip through Portugal, seeing the almost ridiculously photogenic Douro River and drinking too many varieties of port to remember. (Don’t sleep on tawny port!) But my experience with this beautiful country was damaged. I thought about the other times I’d brushed off antisemitic comments as an example of someone’s ignorance that I could just roll my eyes at and move on, and why this one comment had a singular sting.
Perhaps it’s because there is a purity to traveling somewhere for the first time. It’s your first footprints on a field covered in snow. I feel like how I imagine babies in strollers feel, with their heads darting side to side and their eyes open wide, as if they can’t absorb every shape, sound, and smell fast enough. There is the first taste of a local dish, the first conversation with a shop owner, the first piece of street art, the first time I see local fashion on display, the first smell of air in the morning which is somehow different from the next town over. Even if the moment is fleeting, I get to crack open my book of experiences for the first time; I have the privilege of being a citizen of the world without cynicism, only curiosity.
With that one antisemitic statement, that person reminded me that my book should have a foreword of “Beware.” My newborn mentality needs to not be so game to experience it all. As one person who is both Jewish and Black told me, “I think it stings another way because we expect to see some type of sign that would lead us to believe they could say such ignorant things. Then suddenly you realize how scary our world is.”
